by Dale Brown
“I’ve seen a lot of that lately. You seem very in tune with your troops. I see you playing basketball and having chow with the enlisted people, playing cards with the NCOs, turning wrenches with the maintenance guys, and shooting rifles and pistols on the range with the Security Forces. I know it means a lot to them to see you around.” She paused, then said, “But I don’t see much of you these days. The general’s big project?”
“He’s got me plugged in night and day.” There were lots of generals on base, Daren thought, but everyone knew that “the” general was Patrick McLanahan. “Lots of meetings and trips to TTR.” The Tonopah Test Range was the flight test and research base in southwestern Nevada that served as the medium-security conduit between the unclassified flight testing done at Edwards Air Force Base in Southern California and the supersecret research work done at the High Technology Aerospace Weapons Center, or HAWC, near Las Vegas.
“Everything going all right?”
“I think we’ll have it dialed in soon,” Daren said. “The general is a hard-charger.”
“Good candidate for a nervous breakdown.”
“His head is screwed on right, I think,” Daren said. “He’s spending more time with his kid. He even showed up for the squadron run.”
“I couldn’t believe it myself.”
“I wasn’t surprised. He works hard, but he’s starting to gain a bit more perspective, I think.”
“That’ll be a switch.”
They fell silent again, nursing their beers. Finally Daren said, “How about dinner tonight? I think the Owl Club is doing cowboy poetry in the dining room. Should be a rip-roarin’ time in the old town!” That was pure sarcasm. There was not much to do in Battle Mountain after hours; cowboy poetry was a special treat.
“I . . . I don’t think so, Daren,” Rebecca said uneasily.
“You’re allowed to spend time with your squadron commanders while off duty.”
“I know that. It’s just—”
“This is the first time I’ve even spoken to you outside meetings and briefings, Becky, and we’ve still got several hundred airmen around us,” Daren said. “Something a little more relaxed and private would be nice.”
“I’m not ready to start seeing you, Daren.”
“Not even for dinner and some wine?”
“When did we ever get together for ‘just’ dinner?”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Well, I certainly didn’t mind when things turned in that direction.”
“And that’s why I’m saying no, Daren. I’m afraid our whole relationship outside of work revolves around sex. I’m not ready for that yet.”
“It doesn’t have to end up with us in the sack, Becky.”
“I just don’t want to take the chance,” she said. She motioned to the rest of the large crowd of runners a few dozen yards away. “I think I’m comfortable enough around you right now.”
“You’re not giving me very much credit here.”
“I’ll apologize—if you tell me you didn’t think about it when you asked me out.” Daren smiled again. “I thought so.”
“Hey, it doesn’t mean I was planning to carry you up to a hotel room and throw you on the bed after dinner,” Daren said. “If it happened, then . . . I’d be very happy. If it didn’t—”
“You’d try again,” Rebecca finished for him. “Problem is, I’m not sure if I’m ready for the pursuit right now . . . and I’m not sure what I’d be feeling if I said yes.” He looked away. “And if you cared about me at all, you’d respect that.”
“I do,” Daren said earnestly. “But it won’t stop me from thinking about it—or trying again.” She had no response to that. Daren couldn’t tell if it meant “Don’t bother” or “I’d like that.” He looked over the aircraft-parking ramp, wishing he could throw the beer bottle across with all his strength. “Are you ever going to tell me about you and Rinc Seaver?” he asked sharply.
“No. And I advise you not to bring up that topic again,” she said, and she walked quickly away.
As he watched her move off, his mind flashed briefly on Amber back at Donatella’s—and then he shook his head, finished his beer, and went to get another.
While over at the tailgate, Patrick McLanahan met up with him. “Good idea doing a run,” he said. Daren noticed with amusement that McLanahan’s sweatshirt was heavily sweat-stained. “The tailgate party makes it even better.”
“Thanks for turning out, sir,” Daren said. “Been a while since you’ve done any running?”
“I’ve been allowed to skate.”
“I see.”
“I saw the rundown on your familiarization ride today with Lieutenant Grey. Very good shooting,” Patrick said.
“Thank you, sir. With precision-guided weapons and the systems you have on board your B-1s here, a person’s got to have a pretty good excuse to miss.”
“Youth. New systems. Not intuitive enough. I’ve heard lots of excuses,” Patrick said. “It takes a skilled operator to simply walk into a Vampire, manage the aircraft, manage the systems, and release good weapons. You’re a good stick, too. You watered your wingman’s eyes with your formation flying.”
“Thanks.”
McLanahan pulled Mace away from the others circling the beer. “You’re doing an outstanding job getting the virtual-cockpit stuff ready on the Vampires, too,” Patrick went on when they were by themselves. “It’s coming together great.”
“I think we’ll be done well before your deadline, sir.”
“Unfortunately, we’re going to be taking a break for a few days. We have a special mission—and I want you to fly it.”
“You got it, sir. Where are we going?”
McLanahan looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, then: “Turkmenistan.”
Daren didn’t look surprised. “I had a feeling things were heating up out there,” he said. “When do we brief?”
“We’ll brief the mission itself in the plane after we’re airborne,” Patrick said. “Crew rest for you starts as soon as you finish that beer. Show time in the Lair is oh-two-hundred, wheels-up at oh-three-hundred.”
Daren drained his beer. “Cool,” he said simply. “I’ll be there. Who’s my aircraft commander?”
“You worked well with Lieutenant Grey this morning,” Patrick said, “but we need someone with a little more experience.”
“Don’t tell me—I know.”
Patrick glanced at Rebecca heading for her Yukon in the parking lot, then back at Daren. “You two going to be okay?”
“Yes, sir. If not, we’ll have lots of time en route to discuss things.”
“That’s for sure. See you in the Lair.”
“May I make a suggestion, sir?”
“Of course.”
“Let’s turn this mission into an operational test flight,” Daren said. “Let’s use everything we’ve put together. It can work, I know it.”
Patrick thought about it for a moment—but only for a moment. “Good idea,” he said. “We’ll still have a live crew on board, but we’ll run it as if they’re not on board. We’ll have to let everyone in the One-eleventh in on it. . . .”
“It’ll work, sir,” Daren said. “It’ll be great.”
Patrick fell silent again, then said, “Fine. But I’ll fly as mission commander.”
“Sir . . .”
“No argument. This mission and this system are completely off the books. No one flies experimental aircraft until I fly it first. I might even bar Rebecca from flying it, but she’d argue so loud and long that I know there’d be no point.”
“Sir, the original idea behind this whole plan was to make it so you wouldn’t have to fly missions like this.”
“That’s not why I set up this program!”
“I didn’t mean it like a selfish act, sir—I know you wouldn’t start something like this just for yourself,” Daren said. “But the original motivating factor behind all of this was creating a weapon system that didn’t rely on human factors t
o complete the mission. You have too much invested in this program—emotionally as well as careerwise—to be completely effective.”
“That’s enough, Colonel,” Patrick snapped. “I’m the MC on this mission, and that’s it. You will be the virtual mission commander; we’ll put Colonel Long and Lieutenant Grey in as the virtual aircraft commanders. I’m sure Dr. Jon Masters will want to be present as well; Captain Weathers will be on call as the weapons officer.”
“Not going to let me be the hero, eh, sir?”
“You so sure we’ll end up with a hero once this is over, Colonel?” Patrick asked.
“Damn straight, sir.”
Patrick clasped Daren on the shoulder. “Your confidence is infectious, Mace. All right, let’s do it.”
Three |
KERKI ARMY AIR BASE, TURKMENISTAN
Early the next morning
It’s true, sir—they’re gone,” the platoon lieutenant reported. “The trucks and armored vehicles are all abandoned. We saw some stragglers camped out a few kilometers away, carrying wounded, but they ran off as we approached. They did not appear to be carrying weapons, so we let them go.”
The commander of Kerki Army Air Base glanced at his lead helicopter pilot. “What did you see?” he asked.
“The same, sir,” the pilot reported. “About a dozen light armored vehicles, four small tanks, two large main battle tanks, two dozen supply trucks, the two towed antiaircraft weapons—all scattered across the road and abandoned. Some appeared to be torched.”
“We did see evidence of scouts or infiltrators on the base, sir,” the captain in charge of base security added. “Perhaps they got a look at our preparations for a counterattack and fled.”
“Did you see any of their pickups?”
“We found a few nearby, broken down and abandoned, but all the rest of them are gone,” the scout platoon leader reported. “They are faster and more maintainable than armored vehicles—better getaway vehicles.”
“I’m well aware of that, Lieutenant,” the commander said irritably. “But I don’t believe for one moment that they’ve fled just because their scouts saw us getting some helicopters ready to fly. That Afghan terrorist who calls himself General Zarazi is a berserker, but he is crafty and unconventional. He had several hundred men less than twenty kilometers from here—they have to be nearby. I want search teams sent out after them immediately.”
“Then we shall postpone the assault, sir?”
“Of course. If their vehicles are abandoned, why bother attacking them?” What he did not say was that it was too expensive and too hard on the machines to fly them; he had to save the equipment, fuel, and ammunition for more direct threats. “Redeploy your men and search the area surrounding the base—they have to be moving in on us. If you find any, squeeze them until they talk. Make an example of a few of them.” The officers nodded enthusiastically and hurried off.
The call came just a few minutes later: “Colonel, we’ve captured several terrorists—including the leader, Zarazi!” The base commander hurried out to meet with his men. Sure enough, they had several scraggly-looking men kneeling on the dirt floor, hands cuffed behind their backs. All of them appeared to have been beaten. “Good work, Captain,” the commander said. “Did you get anything out of them?”
“We haven’t started questioning them yet, sir,” the security chief replied. “They came in like that, dragging themselves to the front gate. Looks like they were beaten pretty badly by their own men.”
“So much for honor among thieves,” the commander sneered. “Which one is Zarazi?” The captain pointed him out. “How do you know this?”
“We overheard one of the others addressing him as ‘General.’ He is clothed a bit better than the others, and he is the only one with a holster for a sidearm. We took fingerprints—we expect an answer back from Interior Ministry headquarters on his identity soon.”
“Let me know the minute it comes in.” The commander stepped over to Zarazi. “You are General Zarazi?” he asked in Russian. No response. The base commander reared back and smashed his fist into the back of his captive’s head, and Zarazi pitched forward, his face crunching into the dirt. “Now is not the time to act brave, scum. Either you talk, or you die.” Zarazi struggled back to his knees but said nothing.
The colonel dragged another man by his hair over in front of Zarazi. “You. What is this man’s name?” He did not reply. The colonel drew his pistol, placed the muzzle on the back of the second man’s head, and pulled the trigger. A mass of bone, hair, blood, and brains spattered across Zarazi’s body. Thankfully, the bullet lodged in the ground and did not ricochet around the small building. “I will continue to execute your men one by one in front of you until you talk.”
“Aslayop!” Zarazi shouted in Russian, blinking to try to get the gory mess out of his eyes. “You murderous donkeyfucker!”
“Do I have your attention now? Are you Zarazi?”
“Yes, God damn you!”
The base commander ordered the others taken out to the detention facility, and soon he and the captain of security were alone with Zarazi.
“You are one bold man, Zarazi—stupid, but bold,” the colonel said. “You’ve killed scores of loyal Turkmen soldiers, shanghaied dozens more, destroyed several pieces of military equipment, and stolen hundreds of millions of manats’ worth of equipment. What is the point of this rampage you’re on? What is your objective?”
“After putting a bullet into your head, just as you did to poor Ahmed there? Destruction of your pissant cowardly country.”
“Destruction? Why? What did we ever do to you?”
“You and your corrupt government sat back and did nothing while the United States, the infidels, and the Zionists raped my country,” Zarazi said. “The infidels drove all my people out of our homeland, and you did nothing. My people tried to seek shelter and help in your country, and you did worse than nothing—you caged them up like rabid animals. You deserve to die, slowly and painfully, and God has chosen me to carry out this task.”
“Unfortunately, my insane friend, you have failed,” the base commander said. “You shall be brought to military headquarters at Ashkhabad, interrogated, then executed. Take him away.”
“Don’t you want to hear what will happen if I am taken away, Colonel?”
“Your men will attack my base? Let them try.”
“No—I mean, what will happen to your family if I am taken away.”
The base commander’s face turned to stone, and he gulped involuntarily. It took just an instant, but the steel returned to his face, and he raised his pistol and pointed it at Zarazi’s right temple. “If you thought that would buy you more time, you were wrong, asshole,” he growled. “You just bought yourself a visit to a firing squad, right here at Kerki.”
“I have already surrendered my life to Allah. I am confident he will receive me into heaven,” Zarazi said. “I will meet your four sons, your wife, your two sisters, and your min’etka—Kaliali, I believe her name is—there. Soon afterward you will join them.”
“You fucking bastard!” the base commander shouted, grabbing Zarazi by the hair and pulling him to his feet. “What in hell have you done?”
“While your men were searching the desert for me, my men were moving into Kerki, Khatab, and Kizyl-arvat, capturing your family members,” Zarazi said. “Your men are not very happy with you, Colonel, especially the enlisted men. They were more than happy to tell me all about your families in great detail, after they swore loyalty to me and joined my brigade.”
The base commander threw Zarazi back down on the ground, then went over to a wall phone and dialed. After a few moments his men could see their commander’s eyes bulging in terror. He replaced the receiver on its cradle with a shaking hand. A nod from him, and Zarazi was lifted up to his feet.
“You’ll never get away with this, criminal,” the commander spoke. “The police and the military will hunt your men down and slaughter them.”
“Th
en they will find your family members dead beside them,” Zarazi said. “I told you, Colonel, we are all prepared to die to complete our mission and fulfill our destiny. You cannot threaten us with pain or death, because we know at the end of it comes everlasting peace and happiness with God. But your children—surely they are too young to die? The oldest has just turned twenty-two, and the youngest is still in his teens—why, his whole life is still ahead of him. And your girlfriend could very well be your daughter—”
The commander punched Zarazi in the face as hard as his shaking, spasmodic muscles could manage. Zarazi only smiled. He knew by the force of the blow that the Turkmen officer was done fighting.
“You fucking bastard . . .” the commander murmured.
“The same fate awaits your officers’ families as well,” Zarazi said. “We targeted at least two dozen of your officers’ and senior enlisted men’s households. We will butcher them all if you do not do as I say.”
“What in hell do you want?”
“Simple: for you and your men to walk off this base, unarmed,” Zarazi said. “When I am satisfied that you and your men are far enough away and no threat to me, I will order my men to release your families.”
“How do I know that you’ll do as you say?”
“You do not know,” Zarazi said. “That is my insurance. I promise you, I will slaughter them if you do not obey me—of that you can be certain.”
“Do you seriously expect me and my men simply to walk off this base and leave it to you and your scavengers? Are you delusional?”
“I expect you to act like men,” Zarazi said. “Either execute me for daring to touch your families, and then prepare to mourn the loss of your loved ones, or obey me, evacuate this base, and save your families. Asking stupid questions is a waste of my time. You decide. You have until dawn. If my men do not hear from me by then, they will assume I have been killed and will proceed with my last instructions: kill the captives and escape.”
“You . . . sick . . . bastard. I hope you rot in hell for this.” But the commander nodded to the guard, who hauled Zarazi to his feet and removed the handcuffs.
